


Still

by murron



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Slash, Teamwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-11
Updated: 2009-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-04 08:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murron/pseuds/murron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On any other day, John might have shot Rodney a quick look, broadcasting his doubt and checking whether Rodney shared it. With a sinking heart, Rodney admitted it would be foolish to expect that kind of exchange right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: up to 4.2 "Lifeline"  
> Word Count: ~13.800  
> Beta by: auburn

**STILL**

 

Not one word will make you, where you are, turn in your day, or wake from your night toward me. _Marilyn Hacker_

 

 

**3**

 

Lying on his back, Rodney watched John sleeping on the other side of the bed. Stretched out on the edge of the mattress, it was a wonder John didn’t drop off. The blanket rested low on his hip, exposing the long line of his back, lean muscle and the curve of his spine. In the predawn mingle of light and dusk, John’s skin looked dark and impossibly smooth.

For the longest time, Rodney had wondered how John’s body might feel. As of tonight, he need no longer guess ... he knew. He’d also savoured, in full, the effect of John groaning into his mouth or humming against the side of his throat.

Rodney remembered the stoked heat between his palm and John’s thigh and felt sick to his stomach. The stale taste in his mouth could only be the result of too much beer, a hangover and a sense of coming down to earth that went way beyond sobriety.

Watching the sunrise shape John into detailed visibility, Rodney wondered what the hell he had gone and done now.

 

**Feyon**

 

The clouds sagged low in the sky, darkening the bay with a late fall gloom. Sultry air rolling along the ocean’s edge smelt of brine and gutted fish. The tide sucked at the jetty’s poles; boats bobbed listlessly on the waves.

Rodney stood on the quay staring at the fishing nets hung out between the pilings. Swatting a gnat on his thigh, he cursed silently. The mosquitoes of this planet bit through clothes and loved to crawl under any waistband. Rodney felt like he was itching everywhere and suspected not much of this was paranoia. Of all the miserable places they had visited this wasn’t the worst but it was a close runner up.

He looked back over his shoulder at the village, a sad little place with hemp flaps instead of doors and outhouses symbolising the local idea of sanitation. If this represented the pinnacle of the planet’s civilisation, Rodney ached to visit the less advanced regions.

It had all started with a message from one of Teyla’s contacts. Feyon was one of the planets the Athosians hadn’t frequented before and their first contact trader returned with tales about a people who had found a way to thwart the Wraith.

It was all supreme bushwa in Rodney’s opinion, some rumours about camouflage and hocus-pocus. He also didn’t get why opposing the Wraith still had to be his priority. Now that the replicators were on a big parading Wraith hunt, he should finally concentrate on his ZPM schematics. The progress he could make ... but John had refused to let this lead go, insisting they could not simply rely on one enemy to waste the other. Rodney resented the implication. As if his programming of the replicators’ base code wouldn’t do the job. All things considered, being sent on some half-assed recon on no more than a tall tale wore Rodney’s patience thin.

Down at the pier, Rodney returned to watching the pirogues pitching up and down and thought he could get seasick just by looking at them. He was still focusing on the boats when he heard the noise of people approaching from the village. One look over his shoulder showed him his team, along with a group of locals. Rodney had a vague memory of the strangers’ faces, recognising them from last night’s meet and greet. One of them, the only woman among the group, had been introduced as their designated scout, Pae.

It had been agreed that she would lead the Lanteans into the rainforest where they would meet the Mimic, a reclusive tribe reputed to escape every culling. Apparently, the Mimic had lived apart from Pae’s people for many generations. The fishermen of this village seemed uncomfortable when talking about their estranged relations, but they were willing enough to arrange a meeting when John asked.

Rodney didn’t trust the peace but held his tongue. He knew if he started this time, he wouldn’t stop. Besides, he’d already vented his bitterness about this idiot mission last night and seeing as that had no effect, aside from John’s acid looks and Teyla’s compressed lips, he resorted to keeping his own council.

The others had almost reached him by now, stopping at the edge of the jetty and exchanging final bits of information. Rodney joined them, but only Teyla acknowledged him with a brief nod.

“It will be late afternoon before we reach them,” Pae said. The scout was a wiry, compact woman with a hawkish, no-nonsense face. A pair of red feathers stuck out from the bit of string that tied her hair in a knot. She wore a soft leather vest that showed off her bronzed arms as well as a nice bit of cleavage. Rodney reckoned John would appreciate the view. Checking John’s face, however, he found no glint, flirtatious or otherwise. What? Not up to the game? Rodney wondered whether too many gnat bites in the wrong place prevented John from turning on the charm.

Biting the inside of his lower-lip, Rodney turned away. His thoughts were neither rational nor fair, but then again, he could think what he liked, couldn’t he? It wasn’t like he’d said anything out loud. Not today, at least.

Rodney sighed through his nose. John didn’t look all that well, actually. A lot paler than usual, with flushed specks on his cheeks. The camouflage t-shirt he wore darkened with sweat at the collar and armpits. His curt questions also indicated he was in a mood and for once did a bad job of hiding it. 

“They know we’re coming?” John asked.

“Yes,” Pae answered. “Everything’s arranged.”

There was something she left unsaid, Rodney could tell. The tightening of John’s mouth showed he sensed it, too.

On any other day, John might have shot Rodney a quick look, broadcasting his doubt and checking whether Rodney shared it. With a sinking heart, Rodney admitted it would be foolish to expect that kind of exchange right now.

Paying attention mostly to John, Rodney suddenly had a feeling of being watched himself. He was convinced it was Teyla, but when he turned, she was busy pulling her hair back in a tail.

 

* * *

 

They split up into two pirogues; Pae punting the boat that seated Teyla and Rodney, a guy named Ky in charge of the other. Leaving the fishermen’s bay, they made for the estuary, coasting a number of sand shelves before turning inland again by way of a river delta. As Pae brought them about, Rodney looked over the boat’s side, gaze lingering on a phalanx of white, egret-like birds skimming the surface of the quicksilver sea. Wooded archipelagos rose in the distance.

A couple of miles in, they left the main river for a meandering tributary, passing under the shadow of hulking mangroves. The water there smelt brackish, taking on the colour of old coffee. Tiny river-flies glued onto the sweat on Rodney’s arms and neck, one fervent specimen ending up in the corner of Rodney’s eye. As their journey continued, Rodney’s gaze drifted to the boat ahead, where John dangled his hand idly over the rail. Stupid, Rodney thought. Chances were the piranhas of Pegasus were just waiting to bite off his fingers.

A bend in the tributary led them to a joint of the river swollen to the size of a lake. Steering to the left, Ky and Pae headed for a bank that wasn’t overgrown with root systems.

Turning, Rodney glimpsed a knob of debris floating toward them. He was about to look the other way when Teyla murmured his name. Looking back, Rodney saw she had noticed the driftwood, as well. Only Teyla’s frown suggested Rodney had missed something. He checked again and to his surprise the flotsam turned out to be a human head, rising out of the water just enough so the nose showed. What had confused Rodney into thinking he saw a log was the fact that face and hair of the swimmer were coated with thick white paint. The eyes were the only thing dark about the apparition, sitting like black beetles under pale, bumpy brows. 

When Rodney tried to take a closer look, Pae turned the boat to shore, the keel sliding onto the curve of silt with a crunch. Rodney looked back over his shoulder, but the swimmer was gone. Only a circle of shallow waves indicated where he had been.

“What the hell . . .” Rodney murmured.

 

* * *

 

The Mimics’ village lay a short way from the river in the shelter of the forest. About a dozen circular huts were spread out on the terrain, with looms and drying fronds set out between.

“The Mimic are famed for their weaving,” Pae explained. “They get good trades off their baskets and ropes.”

Rodney looked around at the villagers, who didn’t seem at all intrigued by their arrival. Only a handful noticed the strangers, the rest went about their business, threshing flax or seeing to other tasks. Lean and wiry, hair cropped short, all of the Mimic were dressed alike in tan tunics and breeches.

As Rodney and the others had reached the village’s centre, three Mimic left one of the huts and headed for the arrivals. The group looked official, decked out in flax cloaks decorated with patterns of red and black. Pae signalled John to let her take the lead and bowed her head to the three men.

“This is headman Nari,” she introduced. “Colonel John Sheppard and his team.”

The headman watched them without comment, arms crossed in front of his chest. John said hi there and Teyla followed up, attempting to break the ice.

“Scout Pae tells us your people are versed in the art of weaving,” Teyla said, taking in Nari’s cloak with a smile. “I can see your fame is well deserved.” 

Nari brushed the flattery aside. “The Scout didn’t say you came here for our baskets.”

If she was thrown by his rudeness, Teyla didn’t show it. “You are right,” she said. “Our visit has another purpose.”

“The Athosians tell us you have a ... unique way of dealing with the Wraith,” John said. “We’d be interested in that.”

Nari didn’t turn a hair. “Tiu will show you around,” he said simply, “answer any questions you might have.” At this, a boy of maybe thirteen years edged out of the hut and stood by his elders’ side. Nari turned to Pae. “You won’t be staying longer than a day?”

Pae inclined her head. “As we have agreed,” she said. “I’m sure they will know all they want by tomorrow.”

Nari nodded and the other two officials turned to get back inside. “A hut is prepared,” Nari said and with that, he left them standing.

“I feel at home already,” John remarked and Ronon snorted.

Pae shrugged. “Our cousins are a reclusive people,” she said. “They’re not fond of intrusion in their everyday lives. You will find them helpful, though.” She called for the boy and said she’d leave them in his care. “If it is the same to you,” Pae said, “I’ll talk to some of my contacts while you’re gone. People at home have asked me to make some trading arrangements.”

“Go ahead,” John said and Pae went off, making straight for a group of weavers. The boy remained, staring at John with wide eyes.

“Great,” Rodney murmured. “This will be just great.”

 

* * *

 

After showing them their lodgings, Tiu led the team around the village. When they reached a Mimic working at a mortar hewn from a giant root, Tiu lingered and explained that this woman was preparing the bark. While the older Mimic wielded the pestle, children added fruit that looked remotely like cacao beans and slick yellow juice to the mortar.

“Do you want to watch?” Tiu asked tentatively.

_Watch what_, Rodney wondered. The cooking of lunch? Teyla intervened before he could speak his mind which probably saved the boy some therapy sessions.

“My people told me you found a way to evade the Wraith,” she told Tiu. “Is this potion part of it?”

The boy nodded.

“Can you explain why?”

Tiu seemed to mull this over. At length he bowed and picked up one of the gourd-bowls that perched next to the mortar. He held it up for Teyla and the others to see, revealing the bowl’s content, a grainy white paste of sorts.

“Is this the Bark?” Teyla asked. Again, the boy nodded. “Is it for eating?” Teyla tried. Tiu tightened his lips, dimples showing in his cheeks. He dipped his fingertips into the bowl and smeared some of the paste onto his arm. Teyla frowned. At this point, Rodney couldn’t hold back any longer.

“My,” he muttered, “this will take a _while.” _

Teyla shot him an angry look but Ronon grunted in agreement. Tiu looked even more daunted than before. He put the bowl carefully back on the ground. Head ducked, their guide waddled off into the forest and the team could do nothing but follow.

 

* * *

 

A short distance from the village, the trees of the forest started to grow taller. Huge trunks covered in flaking grey bark rose from coiling fern. Tiu led them by a trampled path until they reached a small clearing. When the boy stopped, Rodney couldn’t see why at first. Then he noticed the two motionless figures sitting no more than two metres away from him. They had to be Mimic, but their appearance made it difficult to decide if they were members of the village let alone human beings.

“What is that?” Ronon muttered, staring at the silent pair. Rodney, intrigued, stepped closer.

Sitting cross-legged on the forest ground, the two Mimic were covered head to toe in white paste. Even their hair clumped into uneven, pale ridges. Only up close one could see their chests feebly rising and falling. Their thin limbs and sagging bellies indicated old age.

“This is the Bark?” Teyla said, indicating the weird body paint. Tiu scratched his chest and nodded.

“I don’t get it,” Ronon said.

“Same here,” John agreed and walked a slow circle around the pair. “Are they even alive?”

“They’re becoming,” Tiu offered.

“They’re _what_?” John asked, unable to tear his gaze from the white people.

“For the old ones, it is hard to wake up again,” Tiu explained. “Those who live long enough decide not to struggle anymore and become tree.”

“Teyla,” John called. When she stepped up to his side, Rodney heard John talk to her in a lowered voice. “I’m at a loss here.”

“I’m sorry, John,” Teyla replied. “I don’t know what to make of this, either.”

“Are you telling me this is how you evade the Wraith?” John asked, turning to Tiu.

“They’re just sitting,” Ronon grumbled.

Tiu stared at him. “They’re ... becoming,” he repeated.

“Jesus,” John muttered. “This is a waste of time.”

Ten minutes ago Rodney would have added his hallelujah to that conclusion. Now, however ... Ignoring John’s demand to make back for the boats, Rodney crouched down in front of one of the Mimic. This one’s eyes were open, a startling brown in the alabaster mask. That was downright disturbing. _As if someone painted eyes on a marble statue,_ Rodney thought. He lifted his hand, waving it in front of the man’s face. Nothing happened at first, then suddenly the eyes twitched, pupils’ contracting. Startled, Rodney dropped his hand. Almost at once, the eyes went vacant again.

“Rodney,” Teyla said.

“Just give me a second here,” Rodney murmured. He reached into the pocket of his tack vest and retrieved the lifesigns detector. Switched on, the detector displayed five lifesigns all around ... five, when there should be seven. Rodney exchanged the detector for his scanner. John appeared at his shoulder. “Anything you want to share with us?” he asked in a neutral tone.

“Huhn.” Perplexed, Rodney processed the scanner’s readings. “This is remarkable.” Getting to his feet, he turned to John. “They’re not here,” Rodney said, marvelling.

John frowned. “What are you talking about? They’re sitting right there.”

“No. Yes, I mean,” Rodney faltered and tried again. “According to these readings, these aren’t people. They don’t register as lifesigns, they don’t even give off any of the biometrical signatures the scanner should pick up. According to this,” he said and held up the scanner, “they’re just ... objects. Like, like plants, perhaps.”

“Is that even possible?” Teyla asked.

“I don’t know,” Rodney answered, staring down at the coat of white paste that stuck to the Mimic like a second skin. “It seems to be.”

“But how does it work?”

Rodney shrugged. “Beats me.”

“All right,” John said. “Looks like we’re sticking around after all.”

 

* * *

 

Back at the village, Rodney made straight for the woman with the mortar. Two Mimic had settled down next to her, ladling paste from the mortar into gourd-bowls. “May I?” Rodney asked, holding out his hand for one of the bowls. The Mimic gave it up with a sceptical stare. Rodney looked at the root pulp, rubbed some between his fingers, smelled it. “Organic,” he said. 

“Would Dr. Parrish want some of this?” Teyla asked and Rodney nodded. “Yes, yes.” Digging up a small plastic bag from his vest, he scraped up the goop and bagged it. He next went around the cooking place, taking samples all around.

“Does this work?” Rodney asked, turning to Tiu who stood to the side. “The Wraith don’t bother your people when they’re covered in this?”

“I still don’t get it,” Ronon complained, nodding at the villagers. “They’re not covered in anything. No reason why a culling party shouldn’t notice them.”

“The sentries tell us before the great ships arrive,” Tiu cut in, warming up to them, it seemed. “We take on the bark as soon as we are warned.”

“Sentries,” John repeated and shot a look at Teyla.

“There are people among you who can sense the Wraith coming?” Teyla asked, eyes intense of a sudden. Tiu dipped his head. Teyla turned to John, lifting an eyebrow.

* “I’m starting to see a picture,” John said and ran a hand up his nape and into his hair. Turning away from the Mimic, he spoke to no one in particular. “Okay, kids. Let’s get what samples we need and take them home in the morning.”    

“What?” Rodney said, snapping out of his fascination with the bark-making Mimic. “But we can’t leave now!”

John shrugged. “The agreement was one day and one night. We don’t want to tax these people’s hospitality.”

Rodney looked at his team in disbelief. “Don’t you realise what we got here?”

“It’s interesting,” John admitted.

“Interesting!”

“Just another way to hide,” Ronon commented, sounding none too impressed.

“Oh, it’s more than that,” Rodney said, getting excited. “This is the perfect camouflage. If we can’t pick these people up as lifesigns, there’s a good chance the Wraith can’t, either. If a Hive scanned this place they would just see forest. Nothing worth culling.”

Ronon smoothed his sweat-glistening beard and shrugged.

“I don’t get you,” Rodney cried. “This is a serious discovery. And you just want to file it as an also-run?”

“We’ll take it home,” John repeated, “hand it over to the botany department, see if they can figure out the properties.”

“No, no, no,” Rodney interrupted. “We can’t just leave this to the subs. I have to look into this.”

For the first time that day, John looked directly at him. “Don’t see why you should.”

“What?” Stunned, Rodney stared at John whose face was set in tight lines. Rodney frowned, realisation dawning. He knew what this was about. “I’ll head the research on this,” Rodney said softly, glaring at John with arms crossed over his chest.

“No, you’ll damn well leave it to the specialists,” John returned, anger sparking through his stony façade. “This,” he said, nodding at the bowls of paste, “is a useful alternative for Pegasus folk, but not for us.” Rodney opened his mouth, but John cut him short. “The botanists will determine how to make it. If it’s safe we’ll think about distributing it to other planets.” He narrowed his eyes at Rodney. “What do you think we could use it for? Paint ourselves up everytime the Wraith come knocking and sit on our asses until they decide to hit the road?”

“That’s not even . . .”

“I’m sure it’s not.” John turned around, continuing with his back to Rodney. “One cloak’s enough. We want to deal with the Wraith, safety blankets are last on the list.”

Rodney stared at John’s back, boiling with fury.

“Rodney,” Teyla ventured, reaching out for him.

“No,” Rodney snapped. “It makes sense. This stuff doesn’t blow up anything, so why should it have any value?” Sick of every last face around him, he stalked off to the hut that had been prepared for them.   

 

 

**1**

 

A week had passed since they settled on M35-117 and Atlantis started to heal. Constructions continued in the western districts, but the engineering squads made good time, migrating from one damage site to the next. Some smash ups couldn’t be erased, though. They would have to get used to new scars on the city’s smooth skin.

“All right,” Rodney said. “Try it now.” Standing, he braced his hands on the table both sides of the laptop. On the chair next to him, Radek activated a cluster of dormant systems. Rodney waited for the damning jingle, but it never came. “It’s working,” Radek announced. “Power is back online on the eastern pier.”

“Finally,” Rodney murmured. Radek clasped his hands on the table with a relieved smile.

“One less item on our list, yes?” Radek asked and Rodney huffed his agreement. That list was still long enough. Pushing off the table, Rodney stood up straight. Absently scratching the scabs left by the window-shards cutting his face, Rodney looked at the control room’s main screen. All the sectors showed green on the city’s layout. They were in the clear.

_Back to normal_, Rodney thought but didn’t say, knowing the city’s safety had been bought at a high price. And to think they would have got away quite easily, all on board, if he hadn’t extrapolated the mission ... Damn, no. Such thoughts led nowhere.

Tired, Rodney looked over Radek’s shoulder at Elizabeth’s office. To his surprise, someone stood inside the glass cubicle, back to the bridge.

_John,_ Rodney thought, frowning. What was he doing in there? Giving into the IOA’s pressure, Teyla had already removed Elizabeth’s personal belongings to send them earthside. And no one used Elizabeth’s office for work.

John stood by Elizabeth’s desk, hands in his pockets. Rodney clenched his jaw, one step short of walking over there, John looked so lost. He didn’t go, even though he believed John would appreciate the intrusion for once. Radek was typing away beside him and Rodney forced himself to concentrate on the work at hand. All around the control room, staff did the same. They needed confidence so Rodney made sure that they saw nothing else when they looked at him.

 

* * *

 

It was dark out, the last glow of purple sunlight fading out of sight. Rodney had opened wide the windows to let in some air. He’d also admitted some of the moths that had escaped the botany labs and were now multiplying all over the city’s balconies. One of them perched on the life-sized Johnny Cash poster above John’s bed. Another had dropped into an empty beer can and John had turned the can carefully upside down, rescuing the unfortunate moth.

“Guy has taste,” John murmured and Rodney snorted, too plastered to laugh.

The last shipment on the _Daedalus_ had replenished John’s beer supply and he’d offered to share some with Rodney. Rodney, having no stomach for another late night at the lab or the emptiness of his quarters, accepted the invitation. He was a bit surprised, thinking Ronon had taken the place of John’s drinking buddy this last half year, but in the end, Rodney didn’t mind taking up his old mantle. It was almost like that first year, when John and Rodney watched the same three DVDs over and over while Earth supplies ran out and they made do with Radek’s moonshine.

Two hours after Rodney arrived the two of them had relocated to the floor, lounging against John’s bed with neither of them sober anymore. John popped the lid of another can, while Rodney tilted his head against the mattress.

“God, I hate drinking,” Rodney groaned as he stared at the ceiling.

John chuckled. “Didn’t hear you complain before.”

Rodney pushed off the bed and dropped forward, forehead on his knees. “I’m going to be sick.”

“Naw, you won’t,” John said amiably, taking another sip from his beer. “You can hold your drink.”

Rodney lifted his head with a crooked smile. “I take that as a compliment.”

Smiling back, John closed his eyes. It was good, seeing him like this for once. Stripped of the tension that had him wound up for weeks, no, months on end. Of course, now that his guard was down, his bone-deep exhaustion also showed. Rodney tightened his lips. In the rush of repairs and running the city it was easy to ignore how much it took, holding together. It still boggled him how they could carry on, when loosing Elizabeth felt like someone had cut the spine out of the expedition. It was all very good, promising to find her, but in truth they didn’t know where to start.

_To fail her like that,_ Rodney thought, imagining her in the hands of the replicators, her mind invaded, suffering alone. She must be so afraid.

Rodney only meant to rub his tired face, but he ended up with his head buried in his palms. When he dragged his hands back through his hair, he smeared some of the tears that wouldn’t quite fall. With a sigh, he rested his back against the bed.

“Do you think we’ll ever have it easy,” he asked, “say, just for a week?”

When John didn’t answer, Rodney turned to check on him. John still sat with his eyes closed, but his jaw clenched, the cords in his neck pulling tight.

“Hey,” Rodney whispered, crushed. Reaching over, he clasped John’s shoulder. John bowed his head, hand gripping his knee before he forced himself to breathe easy again.

Without thinking Rodney moved his hand to John’s nape, kneading the tension from the muscles there. “Come on,” he said, thumb stroking along the line above John’s collar. John exhaled a long breath, bending slightly into Rodney’s touch.

Watching the faint squint-lines at the corner of John’s eyes, Rodney felt a sudden surge of tenderness. _All the shit that’s happening,_ he thought, _how come I’m still grateful to be here?_ Putting the beer can on the floor, John reached up and grasped Rodney’s wrist. Moving a little less gracefully than usual, he leaned over, resting his forehead against Rodney’s, noses touching. Rodney closed his eyes, feeling a lump form in his throat. _This is a bad idea_. His hand still spanned the crook of John’s neck, John’s skin warm against his palm. He could feel John’s breath on his face and smell the soap he used that day. Something breezy, with a hint of cut grass.

John let go of Rodney’s wrist and placed his hand on Rodney’s thigh instead, stroking upward. Rodney drew his thumb to the soft hollow behind John’s ear, gripping him harder. John’s hand clenched on his thigh before it continued, sliding under the hem of Rodney’s shirt.

Groaning, Rodney released John’s neck to cup the back of his head. He reached up with his other hand, touching the side of John’s face before he clutched his shoulder. John turned his head, their noses bumping as John slipped his fingers under Rodney’s waistband. Inches from Rodney’s mouth, he made a wordless moan that seemed more air than sound. He moved to undo Rodney’s fly and continued from there, stroking Rodney through his boxers.

The friction of cotton and the pressure of John’s hand sent a ball of liquid heat to Rodney’s stomach. Murmuring something that made no sense, Rodney twisted a fold of John’s shirt in his fist. Pushing up off the floor, John settled above Rodney’s legs, straddling him. Every muscle in his body drawing tight, Rodney wrapped an arm around John’s waist, pulling him closer. He started tugging at John’s t-shirt, pulling it up over his back until John quickly slipped out of it and tossed it aside. Placing a brief kiss on Rodney’s cheekbone, John reached into his boxers, wrapping long fingers around Rodney’s cock and wasting no time in finding his rhythm. Hand clutching at John’s back, Rodney felt his heartbeat quicken to a frantic pace. It seemed the heat in his belly contracted into a small, blazing sun, winding tight enough to hurt until white light exploded behind his eyelids and Rodney came with a broken groan.

John grasped his hip, wet fingers digging into his skin. Breathing shakily, Rodney tried to focus on John’s flushed face and the sweat-matted hair at his temples. _Is this how we’re meant to end up?_ He wondered and a small voice answered: _Yes_. Against his arm, he could feel John quiver as he undid his pants, fingers tripping in their haste. Figuring he might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, Rodney leaned in to kiss John and brush his hands aside, replacing them with his own.

 

**Feyon**

 

It turned out the Mimic used hammocks for beds and Rodney had a short night, dreading to drop out if he fell asleep. After some fitful hours, Rodney gave up and left the hut. Morning wasn’t far off and some of the Mimic were already up and about, moving quietly in the ground-mist that covered the clearing.

Rodney padded to the cold fireplace in front of their hut. Squatting down cross-legged, he fetched a tube of mosquito repellent from his pocket and started covering his arms and nape. A few minutes later, one of the Mimic brought him breakfast. A bowl filled with pieces of soft, orange fruit, the food didn’t qualify to raise his spirits.

Rodney slipped his jacket back on, smelling yesterday’s sweat and sun-lotion. For a moment he considered checking out the mortar place again, but then left off with little enthusiasm. They would leave soon, anyway.

He’d been sitting for some time when Teyla joined him. Rodney noticed she walked out of the forest instead of the hut, which indicated she’d been awake a lot longer than he. He wondered whether she’d gone back to the camouflaged Mimic.

“Good morning, Rodney,” Teyla said, sitting down next to him.

“Or what passes for it,” Rodney muttered. “Did you have breakfast?”

By way of an answer, Teyla reached into her coat and offered him a squished powerbar. Nut flavour. Rodney huffed a surprised chuckle.

“I’m back in your good graces, then?” he asked, not unkindly. In truth, Teyla’s sympathy relieved him more than he would ever let on.

“Miraculously” Teyla answered, face straight.

They sat in silence for a bit, Rodney peeling the wrapper off the powerbar. He caught himself thinking that he’d erase the last week just to share a similar moment of peace with John. He imagined it, John coming out the hut, taking the place next to Rodney as a matter of course. He would bend forward to tie his boot and Rodney would look at his bared nape, not knowing that John would stretch and shiver if he kissed his skin just there.

It seemed his brain was just as bent to betray him as his body.

Glumly Rodney realised that even if he had the chance, he wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t let go even of the memory. Much to his shame, he was too jealous of the moment, the liberty to touch, feel and possess he never thought he’d get.

It had been so simple at first, hanging out with John, making work and missions their priority. Caught up in Atlantis’ challenges and opportunities, Rodney had been convinced he didn’t need anything else. He dated Katie, only to realise that these dates weren’t vital to the way he wanted to spend his life.

John’s company turned out to be a different matter.

Synchronised minds, similar tastes, just enough contrast to keep things interesting ... it should have been conflict-free. It had been. For a while.

Rodney smoothed the empty powerbar wrapping between his fingers. Maybe he’d been foolish not to realise that the trials they went through would break down the walls and complicate matters. Maybe he should have been wary when their reliance on each other intensified.

When he first wondered how John’s mouth would taste, Rodney had dismissed the thought, chalking it up to his rambling brain. A few weeks later, he caught himself watching John move, appreciating his languid grace. By the time he realised John didn’t mind him watching, the damage was done.

It showed in small changes at first, a touch that lingered too long, a readiness to give up private space. Though they didn’t talk about it, both sensed they blurred the line. John betrayed himself sometimes with sidelong glances and Rodney knew his own mind. The only thing Rodney couldn’t decide was whether John felt the same way or if he was simply aware of Rodney’s little secret and didn’t call him up on it. In the end Rodney figured that as long as they maintained the semblance of triviality, neglecting innuendo, they would be all right.

Famous last words, that.

All the things they didn’t admit, all the things they increasingly couldn’t say ... it all came to a pass the night they had drunk themselves stupid. Maybe it would have been different if they had not relied on the booze, if they’d walked into it with eyes wide open.

Rodney rubbed the back of his head, mussing his hair. ‘Simple’, he reflected, had become a thing of the past. He shot a sidelong look at Teyla, who sat with eyes closed, looking like she’d slipped into meditation. He appreciated her silence not least because these days any odd word irritated him.

Teyla never asked what happened. She was good that way, realising when people needed space. Sensing when she should speak up, too. Couldn’t he be the same? Find his equilibrium, get his act together and talk things over with John? Well, he had tried, hadn’t he? And ended up here.

_Like that’s a surprise,_ Rodney thought, flicking a power-bar crumb from his knee. When he looked again, Teyla was breathing visibly, the cords of her neck standing out.

“You all right there?” Rodney asked, surprised.

Teyla exhaled another breath before opening her eyes. “My stomach’s a little upset,” she explained. “I don’t think the food agrees with me.”

Rodney huffed. “No surprise there.” He checked her face, noticing a faint grey pallor. “Do you need anything?”

“No, thank you. I will be fine in a minute.”

“Okay,” Rodney said, unconvinced. “But if you change your mind . . .”

Teyla smiled, acknowledging his offer. Rodney shook his head. “It’s no wonder you feel queasy,” he said. “Actually I’m surprised that I’m not there with you. First those boats, then the hammocks swinging back and forth all night long. Really, all that rocking you would expect that . . .”

“Rodney.”

“Hm?”

“Could we talk of something else, please?”

“Oh. Of course.” Abashed, he scratched a bug bite on the side of his neck. “So, have you talked to our scout again or did she ... Teyla?”

As he was talking, Teyla’s eyes suddenly widened. The next moment, she bowed forward, clutching at her stomach. Startled, Rodney reached out to brace her. “Are you going to throw up?”

Teyla groaned softly and shook her head. “Rodney,” she said, pushing at his shoulder. “You have to wake John and Ronon.”

“What? Why?”

Before Teyla could answer, a bugle started on the far side of the village, sending out a melodic sob like the call of a sea mammal. Rodney felt goosebumps rising all along his skin.

“The Wraith are coming,” Teyla said, already getting to her feet.

 

* * *

 

Within half an hour, the village burst into action. Mimic ran off to warn a fishing party that had gone out before sunrise, late risers ate their breakfast standing, adults started to rub white paste on their children. Headman Nari walked between his people checking progress but giving few instructions. The Mimic knew their routine.

Rodney and the other Lanteans stood geared up outside the guest lodgings when Scout Pae reached them.

“Ky is gone,” she announced, looking grim.

“Gone,” John repeated, eyes narrowing.

“He took one of the boats as soon as the warning sounded,” Pae explained.

“To warn your people,” Teyla ventured.

“Or to run,” Ronon growled.

“Same difference,” John said, turning to Pae. “All of us won’t fit in one boat, will we?”

Pae shook her head. “Even if you did, I doubt we could outrun the Wraith.”

Blood singing in his ears, Rodney looked up at the sky, covered with clouds. Never before had they been so far from the stargate when a culling threatened. No jumper, no way to contact Atlantis ... they were sitting ducks.

“We better find a place to hide,” Pae said.

“Yes,” Rodney scoffed. “Good idea. So when the Mimic are all plastered with bark and the Wraith come we’ll be the only lifesigns within a hundred mile radius. Makes you feel special doesn’t it?”

Pae shot him a venomous look but Teyla backed him up. “Rodney’s right,” she said. “There is no shelter here that would prevent the Wraith from detecting us.”

John sucked at his lower lip, gaze browsing over the bustling Mimic. “_Horua_ Pae,” he said, “would headman Nari allow us to use their bark-thing?”

“What?” Rodney cried out.

Pae nodded, looking thoughtful. “I can ask him.”

“Do it.”

As Pae hurried off, Rodney rounded upon John. “You can’t be serious.”

“You were the one saying it’s the perfect camouflage.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to try it!”

“You got a better idea?” John shot back, face darkening. 

Rodney clenched his teeth. “This is insane,” he muttered.

 

* * *

 

Nari listened to Pae’s appeal without comment, sparing no glance for Rodney and the others. In the end he allowed John’s team to use the bark, though, and relegated two Mimic to help with the preparation.

“Undress,” Rodney echoed, staring at the Mimic aid introduced as Veen.

“As much as you can bear,” Veen returned with unveiled contempt.

Cursing under his breath, Rodney shed his boots, t-shirt and, after a second’s hesitation, his BDUs. Next to him, Ronon had already stripped to his underwear. Veen reached into a gourd and retrieved her hand, covered with grainy paste.

“You put it on like so,” she said, smearing the bark on Rodney’s shoulder without ceremony. “Make sure every inch of your body is covered.” She pressed the gourd into Rodney’s hands and walked away to help Ronon swathe his dreadlocks.

Revolted, Rodney scooped up a handful of white paste and started rubbing it on his chest. Textured like spongy plaster, the bark started to itch right away. Seething with frustration, Rodney covered up his neck until the paste creased under his chin.

“Missed a spot,” someone told him and Rodney turned to find John watching. He had coated his arms up to his elbows but hadn’t got rid of his pants yet. Seeing he’d caught Rodney’s attention, John tapped the back of his neck. Rodney swallowed, eyes darting from the trail of dark hair that led down to John’s waistband and up to the hollow of his throat. He should have met John’s gaze, too, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Shame left a sour taste in his mouth, but Rodney refused to analyse where it came from. Lifting his hand to rub bark on the back of his neck, he wondered if things would ever even out between him and John. Then again, he thought, that question might become pointless very soon. Staring at the gourd, Rodney reviewed what they were about to do. The Wraith could be here any minute and they would wait for them ... covered in frosting. “We’re so going to die,” Rodney muttered.

“You’re too negative,” John said quietly.

At this, Rodney met his eyes, feeling the muscles in his face tense. “I’m a realist.”

John shrugged. “Whatever.”

 

* * *

 

The paste hardened into a shell, clinging to hair, skin and underwear alike. Getting rid of the stuff would be a nightmare. Rodney couldn’t even flex his hands properly, the bark was so impeding. It drove him up the walls.

By the time the team had finished their camouflage, the rest of the Mimic were already done. White figures started wandering into the forest in groups; Rodney saw Pae leave with two other women.

“What happens now?” John asked Veen, who’d stayed with them.

“We go between the trees,” she said, eyes black in her marble face. “It is easier to remain awake as long as you move. Only when the Wraith come, you have to be still.”

Rodney suppressed the urge to scratch his head. Ronon kept touching his lips with the tip of his tongue and pulled a face.

“Stop that,” Rodney snapped.

“Tastes funny.”

“God.” Rodney said and turned his back on him.

“I guess it’s better if we don’t stay in the village,” John reflected.

“So we go into the forest?” Ronon asked.

“Yeah,” John answered. “We stick together, though.” He lifted his hand as if he wanted to touch his hair but dropped it halfway. “Let’s go,” he said, taking point. Rodney followed, gritty paste rubbing between his toes.

 

* * *

 

Entering the rainforest, they passed a couple of Mimic ambling among the trees, fake white skin mottled with shadows. John led his team among ferns the size of palm-trees, following his nose to god knew where. Rodney kept his eyes trained on the ground, careful not to step into anything sharp or alive.

One had to say one thing for the Mimics’ bark: It worked better than air conditioning. Under the layer of coarse paint, Rodney felt pleasantly cooled. Somehow it even seemed easier to breathe, the humid heat not bothering him that much. In time, the itching faded and Rodney fell into a serene rhythm, walking, hearing the underbrush rustle and wood crack in the background. The forest grew quiet, with birdsong swelling on and off in the branches. Rodney skimmed the fronds of a fern with his fingertips and swore he could feel the touch of the feathery leaves. He lifted his head, watching the tree-tops in their underwater green, a few leaves tumbling down toward him.

When Rodney looked back down, he realised he had stopped walking, nothing but shadowy forest all around. No sign of John, Ronon or Teyla. He’d fallen behind. Frowning, Rodney turned until he saw a line of bent twigs and trampled fern. He followed the trail, wondering why they didn’t wait for him.

 

 

**4**

 

After he scared off Radek with his black mood, Rodney paced his lab alone, staring at the white boards. Nothing aligned the way it should, equations taunting him with their refusal to cooperate. When he miscounted the third time, Rodney gave up, emptied a mug of stale coffee into a sink and refilled the lab’s coffee maker. A bag of peanuts served as breakfast but he’d barely touched it.

So far, Rodney hadn’t been to the mess or the control room, avoiding the places where he would no doubt walk into John. Stupid plan, delaying the inevitable, but so what? Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Rodney leaned against a table. Tapping his fingertips, he stared at the white board without seeing. 

He'd had sex with John. Twice, because other results aside, the alcohol hadn’t affected their recovery time much. No way of undoing it now. But what next?

Rodney shifted uncomfortably. Maybe he should have waited for John to wake up; rip the band-aid off fast and all that. But sneaking out as he did should make it easier to diminish what happened, shouldn’t it? Yes, sure. Wise men didn’t talk about the times they jerked each other off. Only that wasn’t the reason why Rodney left.

He could claim he bailed because of the gay-sex-thing, but truth be told, it wasn’t that significant. It might have been, once, at university when the five-o-clock-shadow of a fellow TA rubbing his stomach still had the appeal of crossing a line. But as soon as Rodney had realised getting off with guys was little different from doing the same with girls – neither being more or less fun than the other – he got over the residual issues pretty fast. There were more important things to take up his time after all. Like physics, Rodney thought, glaring at the white board before him.

Back at university, his priorities had been set and today he missed that certainty. Being in Atlantis, doing the kind of work he did, he was living the dream. All other needs should be peripheral in comparison. How come, then, that the salty taste of sweat on John’s skin had sent his pulse racing faster than any other discovery Rodney had made in this new galaxy?

Absently, Rodney rolled a text marker back and forth on the table. You shouldn’t fixate on people like that. And he couldn’t need John, not in this way, not if all he got in return was a friendly let down or some offhand look that told him it was no big deal. This would ruin the rhythm of their friendship and leave Rodney not only rejected but exposed. Worse than that, John might retreat beyond reach, closing himself off from Rodney so he wouldn’t lead him on anymore. All in good faith, of course.

Using his fingertips, Rodney balanced the text-marker on the edge of the table. This morning, he’d hightailed it because he’d been scared of John’s reaction. The beer-buzz gone, would John be shocked? Appalled? Suddenly Rodney didn’t want to face up to what they had done or what it would mean. Panic had rippled up from his gut, sending his heart slamming up his throat. He’d dressed in a hurry, leaving John’s quarters without looking back.

As he rubbed his chin, Rodney hoped that by the time they met again, John would be in control of his regrets because Rodney didn’t want to face them. If he could press a fast-forward button and emerge a week from now, that would do just fine.

Breathing sharply through his nose, Rodney reached for his tablet computer. Comparing the data on screen with the chaos on the board, he picked up a marker and pulled off the cap. Maybe he was worried for nothing. John never talked things out. Most likely he would welcome Rodney’s refusal to confront, ignoring last night until they could pretend it never took place.

 

* * *

 

Rodney filled his mug with fresh, steaming coffee when he heard a voice behind his back.

“Got enough for two?”

Heart sinking, Rodney turned to find John standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets. Rodney stared at him for a second before turning his back on him. “Suit yourself.” Picking up his mug, he walked back to the white board. He could hear John follow him into the lab.

“Rodney.”

“Sugar’s on the bottom shelf.”

Taking up a rag, Rodney started to wipe numbers from the board. The sounds of John selecting a mug, filling it and crossing the room tingled on the nape of his neck. Strong coffee tasting bitter in his mouth, Rodney pretended to check the algorithms before him.

“Look,” John said at length. “Can we talk?”

Nervousness hit him like a sucker-punch and Rodney fought it on instinct, pulling the shapeless anger he’d been nursing close like a second skin. He’d freaked out this morning, now he wouldn’t make an ass of himself twice. As casual as he could, Rodney turned. John perched on the table, hands closed around his mug.

“Talk about what?” Rodney asked and John lifted a brow in his trademark laid-back fashion. Rodney bristled. Placing his coffee on the nearest desk, he crossed his arms again. “Okay,” he said, back stiffening. “Talk.”

He could see John struggle, opening his mouth and closing it, but the words never came.

“Thought so,” Rodney scoffed and turned back to the board. To himself, he ticked off the list of things John might have said. 

It’s been a freak accident. If anyone finds out it could end very bad for us. I can’t, in my position. It was the beer. I’m really not into guys.

“This isn’t easy for me,” John burst out, voice sharp enough to betray the chinks in his armour.

“Figures,” Rodney muttered.

“For God’s sake, Rodney,” John said, more gentle this time. “Could you just . . .”

“No,” Rodney cut in, whipping around. “No, I cannot. I refuse to be dragged into this conversation.” He took a breath, adding, “Don’t make this any more embarrassing than it is.”

“Embarrassing,” John echoed.

Rodney snorted. “What channel are you on?”

John didn’t reply, his face unreadable.

“Let me break it down to you,” Rodney continued. “We were both stressed out, isolated with our guilt about what happened to Elizabeth, we got shit-faced and turned to each other for release. Any harbour in a storm and all that.”

“That’s what you think?” John asked.

“Please,” Rodney huffed. “Like I’m the face you want to see when you roll over in the morning. I was a substitute fuck for lack of alternatives.”

“I don’t remember you rejecting the idea,” John returned, sounding just as angry now.

“Well, don’t feel too flattered,” Rodney shot back and bit the inside of his lip. He didn’t know he had so much venom in him.

Alienating John was far too easy and Rodney couldn’t stop, not even when he wanted to pull the brake so very badly. Looking at John just then, he would have given anything to return to that moment of tenderness, the unquestioned trust they shared last night.

He didn’t know how. He’d never learned how to deal with this sort of proximity, not with someone who _mattered_. Friends and lovers shouldn’t mix. Everything about this, his attraction to John as well as his confused reaction to last night was so damn irrational he didn’t know what was up or down anymore. He only knew he didn’t want to handle the awkwardness nor hear John’s apologies. So Rodney reacted the way that seemed safest: In a desperate attempt to wipe the slate clean, he destroyed every chance to recapture even a glimpse of intimacy.

From his place by the board, Rodney could see John closing down, the distance between them growing. For an uneasy moment there, Rodney wondered what made him so sure John regretted the change between them. All the time he had expected John to tell him they made a mistake. Why didn’t he?

Rodney looked away, but not before he noticed John clutched the mug in a white-knuckled grip.

“You’re an asshole,” John said.

“Lifelong training,” Rodney rejoined by default. John narrowed his eyes and there it was: The look of contempt Rodney knew would be the outcome of all this. Placing his coffee on the table, John got to his feet and left without a backwards glance. Rodney watched him go, stomach twisting. He opened his mouth, but now that he wanted to call John back, his voice betrayed him. He didn’t make a sound.

 

 

**Feyon**

 

Rodney stumbled through the fern, eyesight blurring. He couldn’t tell how long he had been looking for his team, but as the forest sank into twilight something happened to Rodney’s body.

The prickling started in his toes and fingertips, spreading from the inside of his skin and crawling along his bones. He could feel his heartbeat, a heavy thump expanding and contracting his chest. Something was very, very wrong.

Rodney reached out a hand to steady himself against a tree, but the trunk was farther than he thought and his fingers clutched thin air. He swayed on his feet, the pulse at his throat throbbing along with his heart until his whole anatomy tightened to a sum of thudding muscle.

Rodney lifted his face, eyes rolling back in his head, but he didn’t fall. His nose filled with the reek of old earth and rotting moss until he thought he would choke. He fought for air and for the longest time, that was all he could do.

 

* * *

 

When his drifting vision came back into focus, Rodney thought he woke into a dream. Oddly detached, he looked down at his white hands. He could breathe again, fresh air filling his chest and veins. Slowly, he turned his head.

His vision had turned photonegative, showing him the trees in monochrome black and grey. The movement of parakeets and wind flitted around him in an odd interchange of slow motion and fast-tracked time. From his place between the tree-ferns, he saw a cloud of brilliant white butterflies, flickering in and out of shadows. Everything seemed remote and close, infinitely fascinating.

Rodney took in the forest like a sleepwalker, listening to the leaves above flapping like wings. At one point, a high whining brushed the edge of his hearing and when he looked up, he saw streaks of red and gold ploughing the iron sky. It didn’t mean much and in the space of a second or an hour, the disturbance disappeared. The forest returned to its calm not-silence, breathing, undulating and dripping with moisture.

Rodney watched the veins of sap, pulsating up and down the trees. At the same time, he felt a soft vibration through the soles of his feet, a deep, sonorous humming that reverberated deep in the soil.

Night fell around him and he could hear the chirp of insects and the rustle of nocturnal hunters in the thicket. Even with eyes closed he was aware of leaves nodding, twigs quivering and crawlers growing up the mottled trees.

 

* * *

 

“... some willpower already and wake up.”

At the sound of the voice, Rodney opened his eyes to look at a white-barked Mimic, crouched in front of him.

“Don’t rest, don’t sit,” she said and Rodney vaguely understood it was Veen talking. She searched his face before frowning with frustration. Muttering under her breath, she unfettered a small pouch she’d carried strapped to her arm. Rodney watched all this without emotion or thought. Quiet filled him.

Veen reached into the pouch, pinched something between her thumb and forefinger and lifted her hand in front of Rodney’s nose. The next second, she blew a cloud of red dust into Rodney’s face. The minute the powder flooded his nostrils, Rodney sneezed and once started, he couldn’t stop. Whatever he had inhaled, it burnt the inside of his nose and exploded like fireworks behind his eyelids. Rodney doubled over, wheezing. He scrubbed at his leaking eyes with his knuckles.

When his head cleared, his stomach twisted hard before he jerked upright. Where was he? What happened?

Looking around with a start, he realised he sat on the ground, a moss-covered log at his back. The forest foundered in a dusky twilight, with the smell of mist and dew all around.

Rodney reached for the log and tried to jump to his feet, but the moment he moved, pain lanced into his legs. He gasped in surprise – how long had he sat here?

“It is morning,” Veen said, guessing his thoughts.

“What?” Rodney croaked, staring at her. The Mimic still crouched over her haunches but seeing he had trouble rising, she moved to help him. Braced on her shoulder, Rodney managed to stand up. Once upright, he sneezed again and wiped his streaming nose with the back of his hand.

“What happened?” he asked, terror building in his stomach.

“You sunk into the forest,” Veen answered, bending down to pick up a water-hide. “You almost became tree.”

“Became tree . . .” Rodney echoed and then he remembered. The forest had peeled away every conscious thought, replacing it with a keen awareness of everything organic and growing, sucking him into the web of roots and filaments until he didn’t know where forest ended and he began. If Veen hadn’t come, he would not have surfaced from that union. Even now he could sense the thrumming of the green macrocosm like a set of strings plucked close to his skin.

“Here,” Veen offered the water-hide and Rodney took it with shaking hands. When he gulped down water, his throat felt raw.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” Veen said. “A whole day and a night. I wasn’t sure I could bring you back.”

Rodney used the last of the water to pour over his hands. He could feel the moisture trickle through hair-fine cracks in the bark. When he rubbed his palms, the paste made a sandpaper sound. Off. He had to get it off. Rodney lifted his hands and started scrubbing at his coated face, but the bark was like a carapace, scratching his skin underneath.

Veen caught his wrists and stopped him. “No,” she said, “not like this. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Rodney turned his head aside to sneeze. “What have you done to me?” he demanded, dizzy with fear and confusion.

Veen opened the small pouch for him to smell. “This is ground fire root,” she explained. “It’s a last resort, when people get lost under the bark’s influence. We use it for children, mostly.” With that, she pressed the pouch into his hand. “I have to go back to soak off the bark and so do you. Soon is best. But I fear you have to find your friends first.”

Rodney’s fist clenched around the pouch. “John,” he whispered. “Teyla, Ronon.”

Veen nodded. “It seems they followed that trail,” she said, pointing out a narrow, trampled path. “You go,” Veen told Rodney, “and if you find them, bring them to the north side of the village. People there will show you the way to the pools. I have to go now, it’s not good for me to stay covered this long. I searched half the night for you. It’s getting hard not to succumb.” Her eyes flickered nervously to the tree tops. “Find your friends,” she repeated. “And hurry back.”

 

* * *

 

Rodney ran as fast as he could, climbing man-high roots and dropping down on the other side. Sweat gathering in the hair-thin space between the bark’s shell and the skin of his back, Rodney bundled on, scanning the forest desperately for a sight of his team.

Just when the trampled path ended in a moss-choked hollow, he found Teyla. If possible, the knot in Rodney’s stomach pulled even tighter at the sight of her. Just her: There was no trace of either Ronon or John.

Teyla lay on a log like a little cat, all curled up with one arm wrapped around her knees. Hurrying to her side, Rodney hesitated for a second before touching her white-coated shoulder.

“Teyla,” he rasped. “Teyla!” She didn’t move, her arm under his palm feeling like just another branch. Remembering the fire root, Rodney fumbled with the strings of Veen’s pouch. He pinched some powder between his thumb and forefinger before lifting his hand to Teyla’s nose. After a second’s continued silence, Teyla twitched like she’d been electrocuted, eyes snapping open and her whole body jerking forward. Rodney caught her shoulders, smearing the rest of the fire root on Teyla’s biceps.

“Rodney?” she asked, her gaze swimming in and out of focus. “What happened?”

Rodney shook his head, helping her to sit up. “I’ll explain later,” he said, letting go as Teyla slipped her legs off the log. “Where are the others?”

Lifting her head, Teyla seemed only then to realise where she was. “I don’t know,” she answered, sounding more awake and tense now. Getting to her feet, she walked around Rodney without further questions, scanning the leaf-strewn ground. Rodney followed her, clenching his teeth. He was good as long as he moved, but as soon as he slowed down, filaments of tree-drowsiness sneaked into his brain.

“This way,” Teyla called and not a moment too soon. Rodney hurried to keep up with her as she went in pursuit of a trail he couldn’t even detect.

 

* * *

 

They didn’t go far before Teyla stopped again, crouching down low with her fingertips brushing a cushion of moss. “They separated,” she told Rodney, getting back up again.

“Perfect,” Rodney snapped, stepping from one foot to the other. “What now?”

“Is there enough time to follow one trail after the other?” Teyla asked.

Rodney shivered, Veen’s words echoing in his head. _I wasn’t sure I could bring you back._ “No,” he answered. “No, I don’t think so.”

Teyla clenched her fists, undecided for a moment. Gripping Rodney’s shoulder, she turned him to the left and pointed. “This is the second trail. Can you follow it?”

Rodney stared past her finger, trying hard to find the signs that seemed so obvious to her. There was no use in lying, though. “I can’t even see it,” he admitted, angry at his own failure to improvise.

Teyla’s grip tightened before she let go. “All right,” she said softly, then again: “All right. Come on, Rodney.”

He’d never felt more useless in his life, jogging behind her while the second trail fell farther and farther behind.

 

* * *

 

Teyla set a brisk pace, navigating the underbrush with an ease Rodney couldn’t copy. He stumbled along behind her, the branches she ducked slapping against his chest. After what seemed like an eternity, the ground dropped in a steep slope. Teyla stopped there, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead. She called for Rodney, who closed up to her breathing hard.

“Look,” Teyla said, pointing ahead.

At the bottom of the slope, river-water swamped the forest, covering a broad stretch of ground with brackish slop. On the opposite bank, a hillock rose like a headland from the marsh and there, between a stand of tall trees, sat a lonely white figure.

_John_, Rodney thought, his heart dropping five storeys into empty space.

“Go to him,” Teyla said, already turning back. “I’ll look for Ronon.”

“Yes,” Rodney agreed, starting to walk before he remembered the fire root. “Wait!” he called, twisting around. He opened Veen’s pouch, poured a generous amount of powder into his palm before tossing the pouch to Teyla. She caught it one handed, a quizzical frown creasing the bark on her forehead.

“You have to use it to wake Ronon up,” Rodney explained. “Hold it under his nose.” Nodding, Teyla pulled the strings of the pouch tight and started running back the way they came. Rodney clenched his fist around the pulverised root and climbed down the slope. Slip-sliding down the last stretch, Rodney sank ankle-deep into the lake at the bottom, mud giving under his feet. Brushing his disgust aside, Rodney pushed on, his eyes fixed on the hunchbacked island ahead, dirty water splashing against his shins. At its deepest, the lake only went up to his knees, but potholes in the underwater mire complicated the crossing. Just before he reached the bank, Rodney finally tripped, crashing full-length into the swamp. When he came back up, he brushed rotted black fern from his face before looking at his left hand, empty now except for a thin stain of red in his palm. The fire root was gone.

For a moment, the sheer frustration of it pulled Rodney under. Clenching his fist until his fingernails burnt into his palm, Rodney dropped down to sit on the edge of the island. If only he could think straight. If only ... Breathing through his nose, Rodney tried to calm down.  It worked, up until the point when sitting still made him aware of the bark once more. The urge to lie back and burry his fingers into the wet soil rose like a fine mist in his limbs. Give in now, and it would be easy to sit quietly until the forest swallowed him whole. Gritting his teeth, Rodney pushed up from the ground and scrambled up the bank.

On the crest of the island, a group of sister trees grew in a circle, their branches entwining way up high. Golden beams of sunlight fell between their trunks and dappled the bowl of fallen foliage in their midst.

John sat cross-legged, shoulder leaning against the smooth arc of a buttressed root. Brittle leaves rustling around his feet, Rodney walked to John’s side and dropped to his knees. He reached out and splayed his hand right over John’s heart. John was breathing so slowly, Rodney could hardly feel the rise and fall of his chest.

The knot in Rodney’s belly snapped, then, flooding him with a sour taste of fear fit to eat holes into his stomach.

Wrapping his other arm around John’s back, Rodney bent forward until his forehead touched John’s shoulder. “John,” he whispered, shaking the other man carefully. Looking up, Rodney searched John’s still, white face, praying for a reaction. Lifting his hand, Rodney traced the fine creases of bark at the corner of John’s eye with his fingertips. He remembered how they sat a lot like this the night everything changed and suddenly all that followed the next morning seemed foolish and absurd.

“John,” he repeated, cradling John’s cheek and trying to turn John’s face his way. “Come on, John. Please. _Please.”  Rodney leaned in closer, forehead pressed against John’s temple this time. It was all he could do to stop himself from scratching the white carapace off John’s chin. “Don’t go under, okay?” Rodney murmured, “Wake up this time.” _

It seemed for a moment that John sighed through his nose, but he didn’t open his eyes and his hands continued to lie limp in his lap. Rodney tightened his embrace, desperate to inhale John’s scent beneath the antiseptic smell of the Mimic’s camouflage. Looking down John’s body, Rodney discovered a patch of pink in the crook of John’s elbow, a strip of bare skin like a miracle.

“Please,” Rodney repeated, placing two fingers on the gap in the paint. He could feel the bark regain a hold on his senses, muddling his thoughts, so he focused all his energy on John, trying to get through, to find him under that white shell.

Maybe it was his imagination, but it felt like John leaned into him ever so slightly, shoulder pressing against Rodney’s chest.

With John so close, Rodney felt heavy, as though their combined weight was enough to sink them into the soft ground, knees vanishing into the carpet of brown leaves. Like thin vines reaching from dead wood, the forest started to reach into Rodney, spreading green fibre just beneath his skin. As before, Rodney’s pulse began to slow down, blending with a deeper rhythm that throbbed throughout the forest’s root-work. He tried to hover above it, keeping his link with John and thinking if John would submerge into the vast green, he would be there beside him.

It was all right, it was okay, if they could stay together and grow still together, that wouldn’t be too bad.

 

 

**2**

 

For some reason, John kept his sweatpants in his bathroom and Rodney grabbed a clean pair from the cabinet, one hand clamped on the edge of the sink so he wouldn’t keel over. If he passed out, he’d never hear the end of it.

For a moment, Rodney pondered picking his sticky pants and boxers up from the tiles but since the floor looked like it was at least one mile away, he dumped the idea. He had no idea where his shoes had ended up, either, but then, he couldn’t be bothered to care.

By the time Rodney came back from the bathroom, John had plopped down on the bed, arms crossed under his pillow. He looked shamelessly wasted, one foot hanging off the edge of the mattress.

“Can I stay?” The words were out before Rodney knew he’d say them.

Watching Rodney from the folds of his pillow, John nodded. He made room, too, rolling onto his side.

Stretching out beside John, Rodney relished the moment he didn’t have to stand or walk or move anymore. Even his head cleared a little. He felt rather good really, just inebriated enough to take the edge of things and with his head blissfully unsorted, he could drift along on instinct.

The light Rodney had left on in the bathroom fell into the dark room, brushing the edge of the bed and backlighting John’s silhouette. Propping his cheek on his arm, Rodney tried to process the full scope of John sprawling next to him, half-stripped and sexed-out.

John kept watching him, too, looking at ease but not tired. Reaching for Rodney, John took hold of the sweats’ drawstrings and wrapped them around his fingers. A small grin dimpled his cheeks. With John smiling like that, a fuzzy, warm feeling spread in Rodney’s belly before the warmth moved up to his ears of all places. God, when he’d been young and nervous he’d flushed like that.

While John kept toying with the strings of his pants, Rodney stretched his arm until he could trace the curve of John’s shoulder with his fingertips. This simple touch shouldn’t feel new or special, but it did. Lines he didn’t follow before, inarticulate needs floating to the surface, Rodney tried to circumscribe John’s importance just as he was mapping the outlines of John’s body.

Aligning John with his experiments during university wouldn’t do. What was even scarier, Rodney also couldn’t compare John to the few women he’d been serious about. With them, he knew the source of the attraction; be it their beauty, their intellect or simply the prospect of a healthy, according-to-plan relationship. John ... he just didn’t fit that bill. Yes, he was handsome and smart, but that didn’t even matter much.

John’s significance depended on little things, like the times when John squeezed Rodney’s shoulder after he fixed the DHD on some backwater planet. Times when John dorked out over some alien space-ship or fiddled with his wristband because he was nervous. Pointless, normal things, but they made Rodney’s stomach clench with want so bad he couldn’t think straight.

Rodney couldn’t explain his intense reaction but he thought he got it now, the thing that set John apart. If the people Rodney dated were like new assets, shiny and exciting, John was like air: as subtle and as necessary.

Letting go of the sweatpants, John picked that moment to lean in, grab a fistful of Rodney’s long-sleeved shirt and inhale him. Rodney chuckled, amused even as his cock swelled hard in his borrowed sweats.

Trying to slow down, Rodney let his gaze drift to the guitar leaning next to John’s sideboard. It occurred to Rodney that he’d never heard John play but he would like to.

“Take that off?” John murmured, tugging at Rodney’s clothes some more.

With slow moving limbs, Rodney did as he was told, turning his shirt inside-out as he pulled it up over his head. John flopped on his back, one arm slung around Rodney’s neck, tugging him along. Dropping his shirt, Rodney went down with John, skin on skin above the waist.

They kissed slow at first, then Rodney’s mouth on John turned a little desperate and Rodney didn’t know why, but suddenly he didn’t want to come up, not even for air. He moved his hand down to John’s still unzipped pants, grabbing a fistful of John’s waistband and twisting it. John moaned into his mouth, something like “Yeah, don’t stop,” and when Rodney slid his thigh between John’s legs, John bucked his hips, grinding him and Rodney together through layers of boxers and sweats.

Rodney felt a shiver running up his spine, thinking, _Too good, too much_.

Pushing his head back into the pillow, John stared at the ceiling, his pupils blown so wide his eyes looked impossibly dark. Looking at John, long limbs stretched in abandon, a wringing pain pierced Rodney’s chest. Suddenly he felt the desperate need to ask, _Are you here? Do you want this?_ But then John jerked his hips again, friction and the need to touch faster drowning out everything else. Biting the inside of his lip, Rodney pushed under John’s pants, hand clenching around John’s thigh. With the pull of John’s BDUs trapping Rodney’s wrist and John’s skin burning from within, Rodney couldn’t coordinate any further undressing, much as he wanted to. John tried, fingers digging into his own pants to drag them down but when Rodney moved his hand to the inside of his thigh, stroking the soft skin there, John arched his back and forgot his objective.

“_John_,” Rodney murmured, but going from the way John twisted the bedspread in his hands, the mention of his name was lost, too.

 

* * *

 

Later, Rodney settled on his side, John tucked in close against his back. His head pillowed on John’s shoulder, one of John’s arms slung across his collarbone, Rodney thought to tangle any further would mean to liquefy their bones. Too tired to move, too spent to even think about pulling up the covers, Rodney started to drift until he felt a tremble resonate from John’s arm to his face. It puzzled him for a moment until he realised it was John, humming softly under his breath, the sound carrying along his skin.

Rodney half wanted to comment but couldn’t pull up the strength to say anything out loud. He reached up a hand instead, thumb tracing the outline of John’s elbow as Rodney gave himself over to the wash of exhaustion.

Staying here, caution and inhibitions both thrown to the wind, he placed all his cards on the table. It didn’t scare him then. ****

**Feyon**

 

Once again, Teyla saved the day. After finding Ronon, she returned for John and Rodney and woke them, too. She used all the fire root she had left, leaving Rodney doubled-over and sneezing like she had shoved gun-powder up his nose. Ronon, down to business as usual, grabbed John under the armpits and hauled him off the ground. Rodney scrambled to his feet, too, hands clutching furrows in the next best trunk. As soon as his nose stopped leaking, he stared at his bedraggled team standing in a circle, underwear plastered against their bodies with grainy-white concrete.

“Jesus,” John muttered, squinting at them through bloodshot eyes and then Teyla laughed until tears stood in her eyes and the others were grinning.

“Can we please ring down the curtain on this one?” Rodney said, voice unsteady but his heart feeling a little lighter.

“Weren’t you the one lobbying for ‘the perfect camouflage’?” John teased.

“If I ever do anything like that again . . .” Rodney began until Ronon cut him off.

“I’ll take care of it,” he rumbled, a grin splitting his white mask as he clapped Rodney’s shoulder.

“Thank you so much for that,” Rodney muttered, wincing as Ronon’s hand the size of a bear-paw ground bark into his skin.

 

* * *

 

None of the Mimic seemed surprised when Rodney and the others stumbled into the village. Scout Pae waited for them and after making sure they were more or less all right, she went in search of the headman.

Tired beyond words, Rodney swayed on his feet. Before he could topple over, though, John caught his arm. Lifting his head, Rodney met John’s eyes and for the first time in days he didn’t feel like he had to look away. His stomach felt a little fluttery but that could be chalked up to hunger and low blood sugar.

“We should sit down,” Teyla suggested, steering them all to a nearby bench. No sooner had they sat down than Pae returned with the headman in tow.

While they were gone, Pae had negotiated a second boat from the Mimic but as there were only a few hours of daylight left, headman Nari allowed John’s team to stay another night.

“Wash the bark off first,” Nari told them, unfazed by their undignified apparel. The words had barely left Nari’s mouth when the boy Tiu popped out of nowhere. “He’ll show you the pools,” the Nari said. “Take your time. My people will provide food.” Rodney rubbed the heel of his hand over his crusted forehead. _Four sentences in a row_, he thought. It sufficed. If Nari had added a fifth, Rodney would have died of shock.

 

* * *

 

The Mimic’s hot water springs lay sheltered in a cove of stout trees. They used the largest pool for bathing, with a waterfall on the one side and a ledge of solidified lava on the other.

Resting with his back against a lava ridge, water lapping over his chest, Rodney watched a lizard scuttle up a tree, toes splayed. His eyes drifted shut while he listened to the waterfall’s steady rush, sweat beading on his face. His clean, bark-less face.

It had taken time for the bark to soak through and even then getting rid of it had been messy. Parts of it could be peeled off in strips, other parts turned into a slick coat that had to be scrubbed off with rags. Rodney had spent a small eternity washing behind his ears, cleaning bark from beneath his fingernails and other places he’d rather not mention.

As the Mimic had already taken off their camouflage last night, Rodney and his team had the thermal pools to themselves. Rodney didn’t mind, there were worse places to end a mission.

A fine mist rose from the pool’s surface, mixing with the spray from the waterfall. Except for the occasional parakeet winging from one tree to the next, the glade remained peacefully quiet. Even the water’s emerald green reflection was pleasing. As a result, neither Rodney nor the others were in a hurry to leave.

Ronon, who’d never seen an ocean until he came to Atlantis, stuck to the shallows, dunking his head until his dreads were soaked. Wrapped in a simple linen shift, Teyla sat on a curving root, legs dangling into the pool. High above her head, tiny orchids spilled out from forks in the tree.

John did some lazy rounds around the pool, cutting the water with smooth strokes. Rodney was content to soak his much tested body, feeling clean and comfortable. Going from the metallic scent, the pool had to be saturated with minerals but the smell wasn’t bad, it rather reminded Rodney of some of the spas he’d visited on Earth. Very relaxing.

Finishing his swim, John settled near Rodney, stretching his arms on the lava ledge and closing his eyes.

The bark experience had left them all in a lethargic state; only Ronon seemed unable to sit still. Even now he was climbing out of the pool, pulling a long tunic down over his head. Grumbling that he would ask for food, Ronon picked up his holstered gun and stalked away.

“You want to join him?” John asked, not moving a muscle himself.

“Later,” Rodney returned, sliding deeper into the water with a small groan. When he looked again, Teyla had got to her feet, balancing on the root before she walked along its length toward the bank. Rodney glanced at John from the corner of his eye, wondering if he’d signalled Teyla to give them some privacy.

“For a smart guy,” John said softly, “you’re very stupid.”

Rodney said nothing, agreeing without reservation. 

As the silence stretched between them, John slid away from the ledge so he could face Rodney. “No comeback?” he asked, a grin forming in his voice.

“I’m done arguing,” Rodney returned, meeting John’s eyes. 

“Be still my heart.”

“Jerk.”

Searching Rodney’s face, John hesitated. Determined not to speak and mess things up, Rodney clenched his hands around the lava ledge. Heart pounding fast, he couldn’t have moved for the life of him.

_Let go,_ he told himself. _Keep still, just see what happens._

It wasn’t easy, but he made himself look at John. Really look, so he wouldn’t just see what he expected John to do, but what John actually decided. What could be read from the change in his expression.

He might have done that sooner.

The small line between his brows never easing, John swam close and framed Rodney’s face in his hands. When they kissed, Rodney tasted salt and metal on John’s lips and yes, electric currents ran up his spine just as John relaxed into the kiss, and maybe that’s all the answer Rodney needed.

Letting go of the ledge, Rodney clutched John’s arms in a tight grip, water rocking around them.

* * *

 

By the time the light was fading from the glade, Rodney sat cross-legged on the bank, leaning into the crook of a two-trunk tree. Something about the trees here just made them perfect backrests, roots and trunks shaped to accommodate any number of drowsy people. The Mimic had left spare clothing by the pool and Rodney had wrapped himself in one of their blankets. Next to him, John had settled on his side, head pillowed on Rodney’s thigh. Lying down, John had a way of curling up which should be ridiculous considering his long limbs but looked kind of ... endearing.

Above their heads, the evening breeze went through the tree-tops, releasing an oily green scent that reminded Rodney of eucalyptus trees. Reaching out, Rodney picked a leaf from between John’s shoulder-blades. John, wearing soft leather breeches along with his old t-shirt, looked like the wasted but happy survivor of a shipwreck. He also seemed about ready to doze off.

“You hum,” Rodney said.

“Come again?” John mumbled, lifting his cheek an inch off Rodney’s thigh.

“When you’re happy ... you hum.”

“No, I don’t,” John said and lay back down, his warm breath bleeding through Rodney’s BDUs.

“Think they’ll miss us at the village?” Rodney asked, chest feeling tight.

“Maybe,” John answered. “You want to go back?”

Tilting his head back, Rodney looked at the canopy of waving leaves through half-lidded eyes. Without looking, he felt around until he found John’s hand. For a moment, John stiffened, then he relaxed, twining his fingers with Rodney’s.

“Not yet.”

 

_fin _

_21/02/09_


End file.
